Hunger
by Zhora.Deerhart
Summary: A Breton wanderer tries to find a place in the hardlands of the Nords, and finds a chance encounter with the Companions may change her life in a way she couldn't comprehend. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1: A Walk in the Dark

Chapter 1 | A Walk in the Dark

**21****st**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

Alopexin circled the walls of Whiterun like a vulture scouting out prey. She crept forward in a leaning crouch, with her fingers digging into the mossy ground. Her hair hung down to her waist in thick greasy hanks, sodden with blood and dirt, laying flaccid against her pale skin. So pale that her skin glowed in the bold, bright moonlight, slick with sweat and smear, deep shadows purpling her eyes. Her sour, foxy smell rankled in her nostrils, and a coarse linen shirt hung from her almost emaciated frame.

She had been running wild for 3 weeks now, foraging berries and raw fish from the plains and tundra. It suited her to live like a fox, steering clear of the cities and roads. She preferred solitude, her voice had been silent for so long now that words sounded jagged, jumbled and too loud.

The wilderness was full of joy for the Breton. She had felt like her heart would burst with pleasure, running through long-swaying grasses and leaping from rocky crags with her blood pounding in her ears like a tightly skinned drum and panting in the pure, hard air. The smell of the salty ocean fading into gentle pine and the sweet cloying nectar of the mountain flowers as she moved North. But the frozen ground and streams of the far North yielded little, and she was weak from wilderness living. The natural bounty was hard-won and it had been days since she had eaten her fill. A ragged claw wound in her side ached, at times burning like a spark and at others freezing her into torpor.

Easing gently towards the city Alopexin panted, each breath boiling in her throat before wheezing out of her cracked lips, and sweat oozing from her in salty rivulets that snaked down her grimy skin. The metal beads that her mother had threaded into her fox-red hair before she left home clanked in her ears like the death-knells from distant temples. Her bow hung like a broken arm at her back, the string grinding into her tired spine. Each step was a labour, her bare feet were blistered even through the horn-like soles that had formed over the past tennight. Her boots had long since been shed as excessive weight to allow her to run and jump through the land. She was so light it was almost like flying. The chinking of her hair beads called painful memories of home.

_Her mother's soft, white, gentle hands raking through her scalp, pushing the beads gently into her shimmering mane of fiery hair in the dark, decrepit temple, while shedding warm wet tears that studded her skin. The hushed voice of the village priest counselling her mother._

_"Our children must follow their own paths Anesi. You named Alopexin for the white fox, and like the fox she is a wanderer. The little fox runs alone with the wind at her back, and so must Alopexin. It is in her bones, blood and name. It is her gift from you."_

The air had been thick with the scent of burning pine and fizzled with emotion, Alopexin could almost feel it on her skin now, could almost taste the charred wood and the electric emotion of her mother. The image flickered in her eyes as she dragged her feet onwards towards the Whiterun gate. Slipping in and out of a past dream with her eyes rolling wildly as she stumbled forward.

_The priest had moved Anesi's hand from Alopexin's hair into his mittened grip. _

_"Do not forget Anesi, the white fox makes barren lands her home, she thrives in bleak surroundings changing her appearance with the seasons. She is a trickster, a natural survivor. Alopexin will do the same. Desolation will bring her into the bloom of womanhood."_

_"But she can never return. Those are the rules the village council have set Would a fox still blossom on being cast out from his den, or is he forever doomed to wander with nowhere to call his home?" Anesi sighed out the words, her face already marked with the pain of defeat. _

The gate shimmed into view as Alopexin pulled her tired bones forward. She could feel the swell of fever grating in her blood and an empty nausea swam in her belly. She could see the gate, she was so close now. Her feet were betraying her, dragging thick grooves in the mud like lifeless animals trailing in a wolves mouth.

As she moved nearer, straightening from a crouch to a hunchbacked shamble, she could see the guards exchanging cautious expressions. Their mouths were gaping and moving like a caught fish. But their words sounded like a savage wind, too loud and jumbled, roaring in her ears with the strength of a dragon.

Alopexin quivered with fever and fear as the guards began their approach to her, but like a rabbit she remained glued to the spot, facing down her fears with blind stubbornness. With a rumbling sound, like the swell of the sea pounding in her ears, and the world see-sawing in her eyes Alopexin stumbled backwards, fumbling at her waist to find the cold buckle of her belt.

And the guards were closing in, their arms outstretched, mouths still flapping wordlessly.

Her fingers found the cold, steely grip of her dagger just as her legs gave in. The earth was spinning too fast, and it was hot, searingly hot. She collapsed to the ground, with her last view of the world in blurred faces, outstretched hands and the glassy shimmer of the Aurora in the dark, dark sky.


	2. Chapter 2: The Blessing of the Sky

**24****th**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

"Do you think she will wake up?"

"It's hard to say, she's malnourished and the wound at her side was thick with infection. The cuts are washed and bound everyday with healing medicines and I have prayed much to Kyne, but the fever is yet to break and she is still to eat or drink."

"Well, I suppose if she dies then it saves us a job. The guards say she's so addled she can't even speak, interrogating her would be a nightmare."

"Aela, that's cruel. We don't know for sure that she's an enemy."

Voices drift towards Alopexin, the soft whispers grinding like shouts in her ears. Alopexin can decipher three voices from jumble, two females and one male. She can feel a breeze gliding over her skin, and a thin cover draping painfully over her protruding bones. The air is thick with the musk of incense and the fleshy sweetness of deathbells. Everywhere is bright and glowing gold, the stone walls glowing like sunbleached bones. Alopexin blinked and squinted in the dizzying light before giving in to the drowning depths of sleep.

"She smells like death. We better tell Kodlak."

The voices retreated, whispers still ringing bell-clear in the marbled temple accompanied by the soft-soled smack of boots on stone. Alopexin shimmered in and out of consciousness, dreams of childhood and her mother's face invading her lucidity.

Danica Pure-Spring retreated into a shaded recess in the corner of the temple. It had been three days now since the red-haired stranger had been brought to her. She had poulticed the girl's cracked skin, drained infection from her wound and dispensed fever-breaking and pain-killing herbs. She had offered small morsels of pre-chewed food and held a damp rag to her lips spilling small droplets of water into her throat. And she had prayed. Every day leaving offerings to the kindness of Kyne. But the benevolent deity was yet to answer the call. She could only conclude that the strangers spirit was slowly leaving and the God was willing only to take her.

**26****th**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

The trilling song of a pine thrush floated around the temple, calling to Alopexin, lulling her from a deep, dark slumber. Her skin felt thin and stretched over ancient bones, and her throat was burning with a sore, scratchiness. The light was so bright that her vision was blurred, a haze of colours and shapes. And then the healer's hand settled on her shoulder.

"You're awake. Can you hear me? Can you move? Speak?"

With a mammoth effort Alopexin took the hand in her cold fingers. She searched the healer's face for an understanding, only to find puzzlement at the lack of speech. It was time for Alopexin to break her avowed silence. She understood immediately that she was at the mercy of the healer, and without her, she could have, might still die.

"Water." Her scratched throat and underused voice oozed together into a whisper. "Water. Please."

"The pine thrush. She told me that you would awake. Did you know the thrush is the avatar of Kyne? She saved you. I believe it, truly." Danica sat earnestly opposite the stranger. " I had prayed for many days for your soul's return, and she answered my call."

Alopexin gulped the water greedily, before subsiding into heaving coughs. She sat on the marble bed, covered only by the thin, white sheet provided by Danica.

"Drink slowly, you body isn't used to it. You've been sleeping for 5 days. You raged with such a fever I thought you would never return. And you're so thin. Where did you come from? "

Alopexin turned her face from the healer, she was uncomfortable with conversation still and she could not explain the events leading to her shunning civilisation for wilderness living. Not to this kind-faced priestess, it was impossible. The burden was yoked to her tired shoulders, but she knew if was not to be shared.

"Your secrets are your own for now, but I should warn you The Companions will not be so understanding. You caused quite a stir in town, waving your weapon at the guards. They have been here every day that you have, awaiting your return from the spirit world. Here, I will make you some food. You sit and relax, you are not yet well. I will ask Acolyte Jenssen to bring for some clothes for you to wear."

As the healer retreated from her stone bed Alopexin felt the tug of tightened, sore muscles and the dull thudding ache of fever return to her. She could see that during her slumber she had been rudimentary washed, her skin was free on blood and dirt, but she could feel her hair was still matted and thick, hanging in heavy hanks down her back. Moving her fingers to her side, she could feel swollen ridges where the putrid wound in her side had throbbed. There was a scar, but no pain and the mark was coated in a sticky, greasy oil that clung to her fingertips. Her sour smell had been replaced by the medicinal tang of herbs and healing fats, and her bruised and blistered feet were swaddled in medicated bandages.

As Danica prepared a simple meal of rice and vegetables she pondered over the appearance of the pine thrush, and the stranger. Danica watched her as she cooked, long, loose limbs encased in pale white skin that gleamed with a slightly unearthly blue pallor, and the long, tangled red hair that jangled with metal beads and plaits. Danica had never seen a Breton, or any race with hair this colour. It was like the pelt of the mountain fox, although filthy and clumped in knots. She could never be called beautiful, but there was striking, quiet strength in her. A kind of purity. The appearance of the pine thrush in the temple had to be a sign. The clear beautiful song ringing off the walls as the stranger opened her eyes. Kyne truly had given her blessing.

"Here, it's plain but it will keep you alive. And maybe even add some flesh to your bones." Danica slid the meal over to the girl. "I'm Danica Pure-Spring, the priestess of Kyne. Who are you?"

Alopexin scooped the food into her mouth, her lack of grace betraying her near-starvation. She turned her eyes to Danica. Again a flush of gratitude swept her. As damaged as she was, as misanthropic as she felt, she did not want to die. "Alopexin. My name…"

"Well Alopexin, at least we've got somewhere today. Do you know where you are?"

"Whiterun. I am still in Whiterun?"

"Yes, you're in the temple of Kynareth. It is befitting really that you end up in the temple of the Matron of travellers, you look like you have been travelling for a long time. "

Alopexin shifted uncomfortably. She was still not able to divulge her past, and she hoped that the kind-faced healer understood that.

"You have been here for five days now. Do you remember what happened? You arrived at the gate looking feverish and broken, brandishing a weapon at the guards before collapsing at their feet. They summoned me and The Companions and together we brought you here. And here you are. They will be here soon, perhaps it is time to get dressed? I will help you."

Alopexin raised her arms with a grimace of pain as Danica slipped a white, cotton shift over her withered skin, belting it around the middle before slipping loose white trousers over the pale, long legs.

"It's a start. We tried to wash your hair while you slept, but it's too matted. Perhaps if we cut it? You owe Kyne the debt of life, perhaps it could be repaid with this small part of you? You have little else to spare right now." Danica smiled.

"You may cut the hair, but the beads stay." Pain crossed Alopexin's face, not the injured grimace of earlier, but a deep, drowning type of pain.

"I think I can manage that." Danica laid her hand gently on Alopexin's shoulder. "Come."


	3. Chapter 3: The Outcast

**28****th**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

Alopexin studied herself in the mirror without vanity. She had never had much care for her appearance, but she was keen to observe what wilderness living had done to her appearance. She was surprised by new, sharp planes to her face. The natural roundness left her looking and feeling more fox-like than ever. The harsh white sun had weathered her, her skin was still milky pale, but new lines crinkled in the corners of her eyes and forehead. Her hair, thanks to Danica's ministrations with a small flick knife and herb-infused water, hung in a curtain over her jutting collarbone, still studded with the blessed beads of home. She was still bone-thin, but Danica's plain, wholesome cooking had eased her unearthly pallor and sunken eyes, and the wound in her side no longer ached thanks to daily potions and salves.

Growing-up Alopexin had been shunned by the village children, her fox-red hair had marked her for an outsider, a shocking contrast to the local Breton colouring. As a teenager she preferred to run through the forests with the wind at her back over gossiping in the dirt, sneaking stolen kisses behind the inn. She had lived an outcast's existence before she reached the age of 18 and finally sent herself to exile. Under the dutiful care of Danica, Alopexin felt at ease and secure in the temple, a feeling she had not had for many years. She understood that the healer would never judge her, despite a quick wit and biting humour there was no cruelty in the woman. Speech was flowing back into her mouth, although still clumsy the words were no longer jumbled or deafening.

"Danica, you have held us back for long enough. Surely she is well now? She has been outside, moving about – Ria spotted her under the gildergreen yesterday. The Jarl, and no doubt Whiterun has questions for her."

"I didn't realise you were the Jarl's errand-runner Aela. She will cause no harm in the town, she is still as weak as a skeever pup."

"You would do well to watch your tongue Danica. The Jarl is not the only one with questions."

"And you would do well to watch your temper. You will brook no aggression towards me, or any guest of Kynareth in her temple. It is forbidden."

Alopexin moved slowly towards the defensive woman. "Ok, Danica. I am Ok. Please not danger yourself. I will speak." The healer moved her steely gaze from the huntress, and touched Alopexin tenderly on the shoulder, before retreating.

The Nord woman leant into her male companion "She really is addled, you talk to her Farkas. I can't guarantee my patience."

"I can hear you" Alopexin stepped forward to face the woman. "my speaking may be addled, but my hearing is not. "

Farkas stifled a laugh. "I see your ordeal has left you without manners. Fortunately I still retain mine. My name is Farkas, and this is Aela. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"My name is Alopexin, I mean to cause no harm. I am just here to heal and then I will leave."

"You arrived here dressed like a poor pilgrim, armed with a silver dagger and bow. Not really the sort of thing a pilgrim carries. Who sent you here? Are you Silverhand?"

"I came alone. Nobody sent me. I know nothing of which you speak. I am here only to heal."

"You don't look much like a warrior. You're so bony you'd barely make a meal for a wolf." Farkas tipped his head to a side, never moving his gaze from Alopexin's face, seemingly satisfied with her innocence.

"I am just here to heal."

"Say that again, I dare you." The woman had sprung forward with a blade, which now nicked at Alopexin's pale throat. "We know who you are, Breton. You may play the fool, but we know better. Even the most idiotic jester can cause harm with a dagger and poison-tipped arrows."

Alopexin reached up, with adrenaline singing in her veins and pulled the weapon from her throat, using Aela's surprise to her advantage. She held the huntresses hand in hers grinding the bones in her hand like grains of sand, causing the Nord to moan in unexpected pain and drop the blade.

"Then you will know, and understand that I am just here for convalescence." Alopexin palmed the dagger, rolling it in the loose waistband of her trousers, before releasing the woman's hand.

"That's enough." Danica stepped out of her recess. "I will not tolerate aggression in the house of Kyne. If you wish to continue this conversation, perhaps Jorrvaskur would be a more fitting venue. Alopexin, you are healed now. Perhaps it is time to take leave of the temple, your presence is unnerving people and it seems you are incapable of reining your temper. "

Alopexin searched the healer's face finding shame and anger overclouding hurt. She had broken the cardinal rule of the temple. Anger and aggression had flowed in her bloodstream as she had crushed Aela's hand, she had lived feral for so long, she had turned animal. Innate aggression that had flushed her without a conscious effort. And now, she was outcast once more.

"As you wish."


	4. Chapter 4: Untempered Steel

"You may keep the clothes, and I have some food for you. The rest of your belongings are in here. Aela and Farkas still have your weapons, excepting the dagger at your back of course." Danica thrust a small brown leather satchel towards Alopexin, her face stony and impassive.

Alopexin took the proffered satchel, once again finding words bubbled like omit in her throat, but she was unable to expel them. As her fingers brushed Danica's hand, the healer pulled away like she had been burnt. Some part of the Breton's primal self felt pleased that Danica was hurting, proving that Alopexin had not imagined the connection between the two. She may be exiled from the temple, but she would be leaving with a piece of Danica.

Feeling Danica's eyes at her back as she exited the temple, Alopexin paused before the shrine of Kynareth. She rooted around in the satchel and produced a handful of russet hair – Danica had kept back a lock after shearing her, a keepsake of who she had once been. Holding her palm to the sky, she took the dagger for her waistband and raked it across her palm. Dark red blood pooled on her pale skin, matting the wisps of pale red hair to the wound. Alopexin flipped her hand over and let the blood and hair float down onto the pillar before the shrine.

"To make amends. You may think your god is benevolent, but the only gods I have ever known have demanded a blood price. Consider my debt to Kyne paid." Alopexin bounced the words to the gentle healer, wanting to find a weak, soft spot, to critically wound her with a sharp tongue.

"You think that wipes your slate clean? That you are pure now? Your debt will never be paid, you owe My Lady your life. You may turn your back on her, but she will be forever nipping at your heels. Do not mistake benevolence for weakness." Danica turned, giving Alopexin her retreating back.

Alopexin left the temple without looking back, the adrenaline that had pounded through her veins had retreated, and she felt slighted by Danica and cold from the temper that had raged within her.

"You're bleeding." The tall Nord male stood from his perch near the door. "Did Danica finally find her mettle?" He chuckled.

"You didn't trust me to make the ten steps into your mead hall? I thought since you confiscated my weapons, I may not need a guard dog."

"You're not very sweet-natured for an acolyte of Kyne. Keep prodding me, and you might find out what the bite of a guard dog feels like."

"Let's go." The barb hit home, and stung Alopexin. It seemed no matter what circumstances occurred she would always fall into the role of outsider. Her violent nature was unbridled and animalesque, like an innate calling to war. A fresh future, clean of blood and blade had been offered to her in Danica's temple. The simple life of a trainee acolyte, with the hand of friendship holding the offer. But her hot-headed actions and brutal instinct had ended any hopes of a religious career in a swift blow.

And so, she headed into the unknown, with fire in her gut, blood streaming from her palm and a blade rolled in her waistband.

As she climbed the steps towards Jorrvaskr, she examined her companion. A tall Nord male, his hair hung in greasy strands to his chin. He had a thick musky smell about him that was distinctly masculine, but with a slight animal tang. His hair and beard were spangled with silver, and his eyes looked tired and heavy. He was unmistakeably handsome, even amongst the dirt and sour smell.

Alopexin felt a tug in her stomach as he turned his pale eyes on her, catching her examining his face. Her face purpled and burned, as she tucked her chin into her chest awkwardly.

"Here we are." He swung the door open, brushing her shoulder with his bulk. Alopexin stepped back, her skin throbbing as she felt his touch through her thin, cotton shirt. It felt like she had been branded.

As her legs quivered and her heart pounded in her chest, Alopexin drank in her first views of the hall. Greedily, she observed the feast tables, laden with ales, wines and food. Her stomach growled obligingly. After so long in the wilderness she had grown unused to readily available food, and her mouth watered. Even after a few days in Danica's care, with regular carefully prepared rations, Alopexin's body had not grown accustomed to eating at will. She felt something inside her cower when she noticed a crowd of people gathered, observing a brawl. She was still as wary as a cat around people, always expecting trouble.

"Come this way. You're to meet Kodlak." Farkas blocked her view of the hall, steering her forwards without even touching her. Alopexin was glad, she felt like she would burn underneath his knotted fingers, leaving scorchmarks of lust on her pale arms. Alopexin cursed herself for her vixen-like thoughts as they descended into the lower floor of the hall, and moved through dark hallways of closed doors. If Farkas noticed her discomfort he did not show it, ambling easily along the corridor, his eyes barely touching her face.

"But I still hear the call of the blood." Alopexin and Farkas approached two seated figures, catching the dregs of the conversation.

"A stranger comes to our hall." The older of the seated men turned to look Alopexin directly in the face, drawing her eyes away from his companion. A man who seemed to carry the same handsome-set features of Farkas, but with a heavy sadness in the ice-coloured eyes.

"Come here, let me have a look at you." He swung around fully and stood up. He traced Alopexin's lean frame without a hint of salaciousness, before resting his gaze on her face. "Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit." He traced her firm jawline with his hand, and cupped her chin. "But maybe a little too much sorrow." He released her face, observing the frantic look in her golden eyes.

"Master." Farkas' melancholy mirror image shifted in his chair to look towards Kodlak. "You're not truly considering accepting her?"

"I am nobody's master Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

"Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. We know so little about this outsider, other than the fact she collapsed at the gate brandishing a weapon at the guards, and damn near crushed Aela's hand on a whim. Is she really the sort of person we want in our ranks?"

"Her past makes no difference. What matters is her heart."

"And her arm." Vilkas responded sullenly.

"Of course. How are you in a battle? Are you the fierce wildcat Aela would have me believe?"

"I can handle myself." Alopexin responded. The old man's attitude had surprised her, she had arrived at the mead hall awaiting discipline, and expulsion from the city, but instead had found the offer of a warm bed and kindness. The thought of the meat and mead sitting on the feast table up above tempted her, and her hubris would not allow her to back out of a challenge. But the thought of living amongst humankind again frightened her. Her nature had been revealed as untempered steel, ready to flare and boil.

"That may be so. This is Vilkas. He will test your arm." Kodlak interrupted Alopexin's thoughts, gesturing towards the sorrowful Nord. "Vilkas, take her out to the yard and see what she can do."

"Aye." Vilkas stood and exited the room. Alopexin followed, her skin and blood boiling with anticipation of the man's touch. She only hoped that cold steel would cool her rising desire for human contact. But she could almost anticipate the red weals of yearning that would rise on her flesh with a touch. As her body had starved for food, her skin had craved human contact, and the fight that was to follow would sate her need for blood and skin. However cold the sad-eyed Nord's welcome was, his blood still flowed hot, and his touch would be warm. Alopexin shivered with anticipation as she stepped into the courtyard.


	5. Chapter 5: Animalism

A pallid Autumn sun hung in the sky, a flat disc radiating no warmth, but spilling weak light onto the stones of the courtyard. A smell of shit, leather and sweat hung in the air, despite a fierce breeze.

"Ah. Fresh blood. I hope you know how to handle yourself. You may need to without a weapon!" A dark elf leared towards Alopexin.

Alopexin held her head high. She had heard of the honourable Companions of Jorrvaskr and hoped that they lived up to that name. Surely she would not face the mountainous Nord with only a stolen steel dagger in her hand.

"The old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this. Here, take this sword. I don't want to be wiping your blood off the cobblestones." Vilkas held a steel sword towards her.

"You'd have to catch me first." Alopexin took the sword from his grip. "All that thick steel armour holding you back, like a slow ambling giant."

"It seems sauciness is your mother tongue Breton. Let's hope your feet are as quick as your mouth. Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form. Don't worry, I can take it."

Alopexin let her innate ferocity speak to her, as she dropped into an animalistic fighting stance, and shouldered her sword. She felt the blood throbbing in her veins, and her lean, thin muscles felt raw and tightly coiled. The Nord stood ahead of her, he had yet to raise his weapon or shield, in an easy display of arrogance. He thought she could not harm him, that her sword arm was feeble and lacking. Yet she knew he must have heard the tale of Aela's hand. She felt anger penetrate her at Vilkas' insolent display. She had known that Nords presented a certain amount of arrogant pride, but Vilkas' sombre disregard of her skill riled her.

She let the anger swim through her bones and muscle, and with all of her might, she swung the sword. Vilkas easily blocked the blow, with a sidestep behind his shield.

"Try harder whelp. A blow like that wouldn't even stun a skeever."

Fire burned in Alopexin, the adrenaline in her blood made her fast and strong, but the anger in the pit of her stomach made her clumsy. She rained blows on the Nord, who blocked with indifference. As she raised her sword again to make another swipe, Vilkas stepped forward and caught her hand to block the blow. His barrel-like chest muffled her face, and she could feel the throb of his breathing against her face. She felt the prickle of a blush flooding her cheeks as she noticed his eyes on her. She drank in the details of his sunbeaten face, and silver-peppered beard. Those ice-pale eyes, and the sorrowful-set brows. All thoughts of battle were forgotten in those seconds. Breath caught in her throat as their eyes remained on one another. And then pain exploded in her shin as the powerful Nord used his leg to force her to the ground.

Alopexin panted, sprawled on the ground with a sick feeling rising, her disarmed sword still rattling on the floor with a dull metallic clang.

"You're quick on your feet, but lack power in your swing. You aren't ready for us girl. Go back and train some more." He turned his back to deliver the news to Kodlak. Alopexin gathered her last reserves of strength and leapt towards Vilkas with the hilt of the dagger pressing into her wounded hand. The muscular Nord sensed her coming for him, and managed to swing around, just in time to receive a cutting blow to his face. The blood fell like tears from under his pale, impassive eyes. He reached his hand out and clasped Alopexin's arm. His fingers burned and made her skin bubble and itch with the desire for human contact. She gasped as he tightened his grip, ensuring his thumb was pressed in the fresh wound in her palm.

"Sneaky like the fox. Perhaps you will have some use after all. But you need to learn some honour." He used his might to push her to the ground. "For now, you're just a whelp to us, new blood. So you do what we tell you, until you learn some manners and dignity."

Alopexin sat shame-faced on the cold cobbles. Once again her anger had governed her, pushing sense and freewill down into her depths as cold, pure aggression burst free. Her hand stung, as fresh blood pooled in the wound, and her skin tingled like frostbite where he had touched her. Her primal urges for food, sex and blood were reigning. It seemed that every day she lost a little more of herself to ferality, and she didn't know how to claw herself back.

"Go clean yourself up and eat. And then, here. Take my sword to Eorland to have it sharpened. And be careful, it's probably worth more than you are."

The Breton clambered to her feet. So, this was to be her life now. As the heel-trained puppy of the Companions. She weighed up her options, the feral life had done her no favours. It had taken meat from her bones, speech from her throat and love from her heart. In return it had deposited fury, instinct and a lustful need for fleshy, earthly pleasures. She had learned how to rip a fish's spine from its body using only her teeth from the bear. To shelter from sharp, stabbing snow in the dank caves frequented by wolves. And from the birds she had learned herbal lore. The berries that could be eaten to cure the squirts, fevers or firepiss and the mushrooms that would bring a deep, ancient slumber. Her untamed nature frightened her. She could hardly recognise the quiet, fleetfooted village girl she had once been. Jorrvaskr would offer a warm bed, plentiful food, and hopefully a place that she could bury her steelsharp killing instincts.

She picked up the sword. A choice. She once again had a weapon and clean, warm clothes and some food in her gathersack. She could leave at nightfall. Or she could stay.

A lone pine thrush song echoed amongst the cobbles, and the red-haired girl made her choice.


	6. Chapter 6: The Wolf Pack

**29****th**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

"So, you decided to stay with us after all. It's nice to have a new face around. You may not have a fan in Aela, but I'm pleased to welcome someone with fire into our group. I hope we can work together soon, maybe you can teach me the technique you used on Aela?" Farkas chuckled, as he sat beside Alopexin on the wooden veranda.

She felt her face flush at the mention of the huntress, she was still not at ease with her animal-nature, or integrating with other people. It seemed that she was having to push something dark, deep down inside of her so that she could function. She felt broken, and out of tune. Mostly she felt like she didn't belong. But she was a smart woman, she knew that a full belly and warm bed trumped the cold wastelands, particularly with Winter approaching. Even with a sword at her side, she would find it difficult to challenge the near-starving ice bears for measly pickings of fish and damp caves. She tilted her face towards Farkas without saying a word.

Farkas stared into her face, her eyes were like murky pools. She may have been presenting him with an impassive, placid nature, but in her eyes, and the grim set of her jaw, he could see something beneath the surface. And he had seen the white-hot flare of her temper in the temple of Kyne. There was something dark and sorrowful within the Breton, and he was flooded with an urge to take her in his arms. To protect her, to hold her until the dark eyes brightened. He wanted to save her from whatever troubled her, but he was almost afraid of her unbroken nature. "Well, Aela has refused to work with you for now. She'll come around. Her and Skjor seem tough, but they're good people. Maybe once her hand is healed she'll stop giving you her death stare." He laughed easily, the Nord had a companionable nature and seemed to eager to engage her in conversation. "Until then, you can take your jobs from me."

"Thank you. You have been kind to me." Alopexin fumbled the words, polite conversation seemed clumsy to her, but she could see his face trained on hers. Something flickered in his eyes, and she recognised the animal need, the attraction he felt for her. But instead of the raging animal that clawed her insides for freedom, she recognised puppyish desperation in his eyes. It seemed almost ridiculous that a man of his size, and apparent skill should be so dim-witted and childlike. She felt an emotion that was almost revulsion rise in her throat, before pushing it back. This was a kind man, he didn't deserve scorn. Alopexin felt a dark shame in her cruel thoughts.

"It's nothing. You're an easy person to be nice to." He put his ham-sized hand on her arm, and she felt a faint tingle. Although her body was still craving human contact, the animal lust within her was fading towards him. She could not crave a man with the weak-will of a hound. She could see her life here unfolding. She would fight with them, her sword arm becoming a shared commodity. She would sleep beside them, in the doggy-smelling underdepths of Jorrvaskr. And she could be his, she could see it in his face. She had traded in the unknowing of ferality for a comfortable life here. For a warm bed and bellyful of mead and meat she would turn from a fox into a pack-seeking wolf. It was safe.

"So, are you enjoying Whiterun? I never did find out where you're from. I've never seen a Breton with hair like yours. It's the colour of pure copper." His hand remained on her arm, an extension of friendship.

"I like Whiterun. It's easy to be nameless, if you so wish."

"Not as easy as you think. You're the chatter on every market trader's lips, it's like you've become currency. Even one who sticks to the shadows can be seen in the right light, and Whiterun is so very bright." He remarked, with a wry smile.

Alopexin felt the first hint of humour touch her face. She had clearly underestimated this man. This gentle, yet deadly giant, who appeared childish and overeager but governed a dry wit.

"Then I'll be sure to creep more carefully next time." She rewarded him with a smile.

"Or cast a better shadow." He quipped. "I may have just the job to help you. The people of Whiterun are having trouble with a bandit camp just outside. Maybe if you take it, people will remember you for that, rather than for trying to skewer two guards, and then passing out in a cold sweat."

"I'll take it."


	7. Chapter 7 The Fox Hunt

**30****th**** of Hearthfire, 4E 201**

Alopexin stood on the edge of a cliff, the wind sang through her bones and the clear air coursed through her lungs. She could feel the weight of the bow at her back, glowing in the pale Northern sun. Her feet hugged the edge of the cliff in thin leather boots that allowed her to feel the small curves and crevices. She surveyed the area carefully. Her objective was plain, clear the bandits out of the cave. She could feel the rising adrenaline in her blood already. She felt like a well-oiled Dwemer machine, dormant for so long finally called into life with only one objective – to harm.

She heard voices from the mouth of the cave and fell back, clinging to the rockface with her entire body. She pulled the bow from her back and grasped two arrows. She pulled the string of the bow taut, and slipped the arrow into place with battleborn ease. The arrows cut through the air in succession, each meeting the intended target. Like quicksilver, before the second bandit could even react to his fallen comrade he felt the piercing blow of a poison-tipped arrow and crumpled to the ground.

Alopexin scanned the cave mouth for any remaining bandits, carefully shuffling down from the precipice. Her hands scraped along the rough stone, crisscrossing her skin with tiny scratches, and the wound in her hand ached beneath the heavily balmed bandage. She dropped to the ground, feeling the slap of her feet on the cold, hard ground, and the judder of pressure in her calves. She crouched and crept towards the cave, feeling the steel of the wilderness entering her once again.

She slipped through the black bowels of the cave, splashing the walls blood red. Her sword whispered through the air, through skin, muscle, bone. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and with every kill she felt euphoria rising. The quiet black air tasted of steel, salt and midnight. With each muted step, each soft twinkle of her hair beads she felt her stomach tense. She could feel muddy sweat glistening on her face, and taste soot on her lips from the softly burning torches. Animal anger bristled down her spine, filling each vertebrae with white hot aggression, but with each kill she felt cleansed. The dirty, dark feelings that crawled and writhed inside of her grew white and pure. She was a killer. This was her job. It was no longer a polluted secret, but a paid pastime. In their deaths, she would survive.

She moved towards the heart of the cave, hearing more voices. Melding herself into the chalky cave walls, she watched and counted. One, two, three bandits. She sheathed her sword quietly, and once more pulled out her bow. It felt firm and warm in her grasp as she wrapped her fingers around the body. She angled the shimmering glass arrow, aiming for the face of the closest bandit. She studied his face, heavy-set and red-nosed with drunken-lolling eyes. He was barely awake. She pulled back the arrow feeling the heft of her bow, her eyes never leaving the drooping bandit face, before releasing her grip.

The arrow struck the bandit square in the eye socket, so cleanly severing through his brain that he had no time to react, only sliding head first into the plate of thick venison before him, his blood mingling with that of the deer meat.

"Mord can't handle his ale. What a man…" The second bandit slurred, as she sprawled onto the lap of the third. "But I can hold my drink chief. Care to find out?"

Alopexin thanked the gods for the dim light in the cave, and the wanton drunkness of the bandits, clocking both her and the hilt of the arrow in a muddy darkness. She may have a killer instinct, but her body was still lacking flesh and muscle and she could feel the ache of fatigue. Her body couldn't keep up with her yet. She watched as the bandit chief spread his large hands over the female's small breasts, rubbing the nibs to points as she ground her pelvis into him. Alopexin cocked the bow again, readying herself for a killing blow. She let the arrow fly, piercing the female's supple skin, but missing the heart by mere centimetres.

Alopexin cursed as the chief roared in a drunken rage. He flew to his feet, letting the bleeding, wailing female fall to the floor, clutching at the arrow in her back. He heaved a heavy war axe on his wide shoulders and moved towards Alopexin's cubby.

She hitched the bow to her back, and drew her sword. The steel shimmed red in the light, and the chief finally caught sight of her in his ale-driven haze. He threw his entire weight towards her, swinging the axe with visible skill. Alopexin relied on her lithe frame and light armour, and dodged the blow as she parried with her sword.

Her blade caught the shoulder blade of the bandit, as he dealt with the heavy aftermath of his swing, causing him to growl.

"I'm going to skin you. I will pick the meat from your bones and feast on you." The barbarian bared his teeth, as he shifted his weight to swing the axe once more.

Alopexin stayed silent, she moved her weight quickly and once again smoothly dodged the blow. She shifted forwards and swiped at the bandit with her sword, catching his upper arm in a burst of blood and flesh. Enraged he recouped his energy and, more swiftly, swung the axe towards her.

Alopexin dodged to the left, feeling a bursting pain in her right shoulder as the axe cut through her armour and flesh, leaving a jagged mush of blood and leather. She staggered and fell to her knees from the strike. She turned her face upwards, leaving a sheen of sweat pouring down her neck, mingling with the spurting blood.

"I can't wait to strip those clothes from you, and then your skin. You look so juicy…and fresh. I'm going to enjoy killing you slowly."

He kicked the sword away from her hand, and trapped her arms beneath his hefty bicep. He dragged her to the table, and slammed her backwards into the wood, crushing fruit and plates beneath her. Sweat dripped into Alopexin's eyes, and she blinked hard trying to wash the salty blur away. He pressed his heavy weight against her, pinning her down, stopping her flailing limbs. The chief pulled a dagger from his belt, and traced the iron against the leather of her armour. He pressed hard, until the material began to yield, splitting like a rotten peach under the blade. The leather severed and split roughly, leaving a pale strip of Alopexin's belly on show. She felt like a gutted fish, pushed to submission under his heavy grasp. She could feel his pleasure rising, as he continued to trace the knife along her, this time along the bones of her body.

He dropped his face to her breasts, licking his fat tongue over the pale mounds, as the knife remained jabbed into her skin. She dug her nails into him, wriggling and writhing like a worm on the hook. A scream poured from her lips as he drove the dagger into her palm, pinning her by flesh and bone to the wooden table. His drunken fat fingers tore at her leggings, pulling them down, shackling her. Animal sounds were falling from her, whimpers, moans and growls.

He walked to the fallen body of the female bandit, with arrogant assurance that Alopexin was unable to squirm free. The barbarian pulled a dagger from the female's waist, and walked slowly back to the pinned foxgirl, ignoring the anguished and pained cries of his fellow bandit.

"You can squeal all you like. I know that you want this. I can see in your eyes, you're hungry for a real man. But how would you like to be filled, me or the dagger?"

He traced the blade at her groin, nicking the soft, delicate skin, as he gathered her womanly hair in his hands and twisted. Alopexin was weak with blood loss. She knew was going to die here, in this stinking hole, with this grotesque pig on top of her.


	8. Chapter 8: Achilles Heel

Alopexin hazed in and out of consciousness, the pain in her body so great it seemed to radiate in a growing halo rather than from a specific place now. The entire room seemed to shimmer, and the candlelight licked at the ceiling like the roof was aflame. She couldn't tell whether a second had passed, or a decade. She may have spent her entire life under this sweating, growling hulk. He was tracing leylines into her skin with the point of his dagger. Grey saliva pooled in his jutting lower lip and sweat furrowed into the lines he carved on her skin, his eyes red-ringed and flat with alcohol, nostrils flaring with the mingling smell of desire and blood. His shadow flared against the wall, elevating him to giantly proportions, and he was emitting a low growl.

She couldn't look at his face. This should have been simple, to be beaten by a gang of unprepared, untrained bandits was unbearable to her. But she was powerless under the grip of a simple man. No warrior this, just a man. She felt no allegiance with The Companions, but her pride rankled. They would sit in their mead hall gorging themselves on meat and ale, and spare no second thought to her while she was ground into bone and ash under the feet of this dog. Her limbs were empty, she could give no resistance. And she could feel her life circling away from her, draining like dirty water. Time to give in. There was no light, no easing of pain. Giving herself to death wasn't how she imagined it, no glory and valor. Just a small, broken girl, powerless to change her fate. Bloody, bruised and blanketed in an aura of pain, she drifted. She felt a warm spray coat her face and the metallic tang of blood thickened in the air. And she slipped into the dark, quiet death.

_"It is my time ma. I was not built for this life"_

_"But Alopexin, you know you cannot return. Is it my fate to never look upon your face again?"_

_"If the gods will it so, ma. But I will miss you, with my heart and my body"_

_"My Alo. You go with the winds, and I will be your anchor. We will be together again"_

_"Goodbye ma"_


End file.
